Wabi-Sabi (侘寂) — Learning to Keep What Time Has Touched

 Gemini Generated

For many of us, calendars, diaries, and yearbooks marked the arrival of a new year. The unused one from the year before rarely went to waste — it became a scrapbook of sorts. A place for doodles, secret codes, half-formed thoughts, phone numbers, and ideas that felt important in the moment.

Handwritten notes, smudged ink, messy, uneven lines. Imperfect — but deeply personal.

Over the years, I collected a lot of those and at some point, I decided it was time to clean up my shelves. It felt practical at the time.
Old diaries were discarded, with only scanned copies of selected pages treasured.

I feel sad about that decision now. I didn’t realise then how much of me lived in those pages — they were part of growing up, maturing together. Those clumsy lines on paper were akin to the veins of a tree, irregular in shape yet proof of years of existence.

I wasn’t aware of the Japanese concept of Wabi-Sabi then, but I felt its essence.

Wabi-Sabi invites us to see beauty in imperfection.
It encourages us to embrace the imperfect, the transient, and the incomplete — a cracked teacup, a worn-out pair of jeans.

It asks us to accept every crack, wrinkle, and stain not as flaws, but as quiet markers of authenticity — like a painter’s strokes on the artwork of being alive.

Suddenly, those old diaries felt dearer, and their absence created a sense of vacuum. Life is a mosaic, a collage formed by both perfect and imperfect everyday moments. Removing traces of imperfection does not make the image perfect; it makes it unauthentic — someone else’s life.

A chipped mug that brews the morning coffee — each chip carrying the memory of a day.
A weathered wooden table — scratched by years of family dinners, marked by countless cups of tea, holding a history no polish should erase.
An old photograph, creased at the edges — imperfectly preserved, yet holding a perfect memory.

While Kaizen teaches us to keep improving, step by step, Wabi-Sabi reminds us not to discard what time has already shaped.

One urges growth; the other, acceptance.
Perhaps a meaningful life needs both —
the courage to improve,
and the wisdom to keep what already bears our marks.

When Words Become Ways of Living

Eight Japanese ideas for everyday life 

Image generated by Google Gemini

Minnesota is in the news today, though not for reasons one would wish for. I have no personal connection with the place, but a few years ago I wrote about something called the Minnesota Zipper Merge—not as a traffic rule, but as a behavioural insight.

You can read it here: Minnesota-zipper-merge

It is a simple concept, given a clear name, that quietly changed how people drive. By labelling a desired action, it made people more conscious of their behaviour. Naming it made it actionable. That stayed with me, because it revealed how powerful language can be in shaping the way we respond.

Japan has long influenced the West in a similar way, particularly in manufacturing. Words like Lean, Just-In-Time, and Kaizen are no longer foreign terms; they are embedded in how industries think and function. But beyond factories and offices, the Japanese language carries ideas that shape everyday life—ideas that don’t offer instructions or shortcuts, but ways of seeing.

Over the coming days, I plan to sit with eight such Japanese concepts. They are not hacks or prescriptions. They are phrases—and with them, a way of responding, adjusting, and living a little differently.

Here are the eight I’ll be returning to:

• Shikata ga nai — accepting what cannot be helped

• Gaman — quiet endurance with dignity

• Wabi-Sabi — beauty in imperfection and impermanence

• Kaizen — small, continuous improvement

• Shinrin-Yoku — mindful immersion in nature

• Mottainai — respect for resources, time, and effort

• Oubaitori — growing without comparison

• Ikigai — a reason for being, held at the centre

I’ll begin today with the one that feels most appropriate—especially in light of recent events and our instinctive reactions to them.

Shikata ga nai (仕方がない)

“It can’t be helped.”

Everyone encounters moments of helplessness—when things simply aren’t within our control.

The train is delayed.
The rain won’t stop.
Life throws something unexpected.

Instead of tightening into frustration, shikata ga nai invites a pause—a breath.
It isn’t resignation.
It isn’t indifference.

It is grace: the strength to accept what lies beyond our control, and to move forward calmly anyway.
Like watching the rain, rather than fighting it.

Naming something doesn’t solve everything. But sometimes, it gives us a place to stand—emotionally and mentally—when solutions aren’t immediately available.

The next time you find yourself stuck—angry, helpless, or resisting what refuses to change—remember this: it isn’t a misfortune specially assigned to you. It is simply life, arriving as it does for every one of us, from time to time.

In those moments, shikata ga nai is not surrender. It is recognition.
A steady acceptance of what cannot be helped, and the quiet decision to move forward with dignity anyway.

Over the next days, I’ll sit with the remaining ideas—slowly, without rushing—letting words become ways of living.

2026: A Happy New Year for Memory

 

“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.” — Oscar Wilde

It had been in my scheme of things for the past few weeks to write something to mark the end of 2025. Yet, like many such intentions, it kept slipping out of my mind — until I reached the very last day of the year.

I wouldn’t blame my memory entirely for this.
But I can’t give it a clean chit either.

A new year inevitably brings with it an invitation to reset — and to resolve something ambitious. This time, my resolution is simpler, shaped by a very personal need: to retain and reinforce my memory.

I’ve decided to dedicate 2026 as the year of memory improvement.

Not memory in the heroic sense of remembering everything — but in the practical sense: better recall, sharper focus, and a mind that stays engaged rather than drifting.

Here is the path I plan to follow — and I sincerely invite you to join me if it resonates.

Train the brain — daily, deliberately

The brain responds to use. Small, consistent challenges matter far more than intensity.

• Do one daily mental workout: crosswords, logic puzzles, or even something as simple as the New York Times Wordle — modest, but surprisingly effective.

• Learn something new that stretches you just a little: a language, a musical instrument, or an unfamiliar skill.

• Read something and summarize it in your own words — aloud or in writing.

Move to support the mind

What’s good for the heart is good for the brain.

• Stay active most days — walking, cycling, swimming, or anything that gently raises the heart rate.

• Include light strength work a few times a week to support overall health.

• Build movement into everyday life: walk after meals, take the stairs, or pace during phone calls.

Eat, sleep, and check the basics

Memory is protected by simple, consistent health habits.

• Eat thoughtfully: more vegetables, fruits, fish, and whole foods; less processed excess.

• Sleep well and regularly — this is when memory consolidates.

• Pay attention to medical basics like blood pressure, vitamin levels, and medications, especially if memory changes feel unusual.

Use memory systems, not willpower

Good systems reduce daily friction.

• Keep one trusted place for notes, tasks, and reminders.

• Store essentials like keys and glasses in fixed locations.

• Stay socially active — conversation and connection sharpen memory more than we often realise.

I’m not aiming for perfection.
Just to remember more, drift less, and stay mentally engaged with life as it unfolds.

As 2025 comes to a close, I wish you clarity, good health, and moments worth remembering.

And if you choose to, join me in making 2026 a year where we don’t just live through time — but remember it a little better.

Happy New Year.

A Pledge and a Prayer

 

Have you ever woken up wondering how you’ll face the day, or whether you’re falling behind your own dreams? If so, you share something in common with a younger version of me — a time when I believed this feeling was natural.

One day, I realised it wasn’t. And since then, I’ve had to remind myself, again and again, that this heaviness is not a default state. It is the effect of life’s stresses, unfulfilled dreams, and surrounding expectations quietly clouding clarity.

The promise I now make to myself is simple:
I will not let that noise take over my life.

Life waits for nobody. It does not pause because I feel low, slow, or unsure. No matter how I feel, the day will still unfold — and I choose to make something meaningful out of it.

Here is my pledge — and perhaps, in its own quiet way, a prayer.

Each morning arrives as a vast canvas, inviting me to rise, to move, and to paint my own day. I must embrace this opportunity and do my best — not for applause, not for approval, but to tend to my own life.

I regret nothing.
The past is a path already walked. Every mistake was experience gained, every misstep a lesson earned. I extract the wisdom and continue onward.

My foremost aim is to safeguard my mind, my emotions, and my peace. Once this inner ground is steady, the mind is calm — able to navigate storms while others flail.

I strive to master my emotions, knowing that envy and fear shrink the heart. When I encounter someone greater, I observe, learn, and grow alongside them.

True peace begins when I mind my own path, stop seeking applause, and stop comparing my brushstrokes to others. Life is not a contest; it is a canvas.

Life will move regardless. But when I walk with intention — step by step — life quietly rewards me.

I keep moving.
I keep painting.
I keep walking.

My path is mine alone — and it is beautiful.
My path is mine alone — and I choose to walk it with care.

Anger and You

“Anger is the punishment we give ourselves for someone else’s actions.”

I came across this line in an article, and the author went on to describe how drained they felt once the anger finally cooled down. I wondered how universal this experience is — and how few of us understand what’s actually happening inside us. It made me rethink my own relationship with anger.

Anger is a natural signal that something important feels threatened or disrespected. It rises fast, hits hard, and often leaves us exhausted. That’s because, for a moment, the older “reptile” part of the brain — our survival system — takes over. Clear thinking, empathy, and perspective momentarily step aside.

I once couldn’t handle my anger during my high school, and that kept us apart for a decade.

When anger is left to simmer, it turns inward — draining our energy, tightening the body, and often hurting us more than the original trigger.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.
If we can stay just a little aware in the heat of the moment, the emotion passes without doing further damage. Even a small shift in awareness can soften the entire moment. A few simple concepts like the following can be helpful:

• Pause and breathe. A slow breath interrupts the rush and gives the mind a few seconds to return online.

• Notice your patterns. Certain tones, expectations, or situations trigger us again and again. Awareness softens the impact.

• Reframe the story. A small shift in interpretation can lower the emotional temperature almost instantly.

Managing anger isn’t about suppressing feelings — it’s about protecting our energy, our clarity, and our relationships. It’s choosing where our attention goes instead of letting emotions steer the entire day.

Start small.
A single pause.
A single breath.

A single belief: I can choose my response.

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The Second Chance We Want

 

Sitting alone, contemplating how life has and is treating me, I remembered an old story. A person facing what we often call a “midlife crisis” went to a monk. He complained about all the decisions he felt he had failed to take, about how miserable his life had become. He wished he could wake up at 22 and start all over.

The perspective the monk offered made a huge impact on me.

He said:

"If you’re 41 and feeling sad that you can’t wake up as a 22-year-old again, try this instead."

Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Feel your lungs expand, feel the air entering your nose. Now, imagine — just for a few moments — that you are 85.

Feel the weight of those years — the slower body, the absence of people you once loved, the conversations you never had, the apologies you never made, the love you didn’t express enough. Let the regrets rise: the chances you didn’t take, the relationships you let fade, the moments you were too distracted to notice.

Sit with that version of yourself for a while — you will soon feel the 85-year-old you wishing for one more ordinary day at 41.

And then, in this little thought experiment, you go to sleep with all those feelings.

Then you wake up… you are 41 again.
Not older.
Not drained.
Not running out of time.

You suddenly, miraculously, have the next 44 years back in your hands- maybe little less, or little more.

So you ask yourself:

• What would I do differently?

• What would matter more?

• Whom would I call?

• What would I finally stop postponing?

The monk’s point was simple:

You may never be 22 again, but you can absolutely be someone your 85-year-old self would be grateful for.

We keep longing for a second chance — without realizing we already have one.

It just begins at 41, not at 22.

Today’s Overwhelming World and Me

 

Photo by Anna Tarazevich

On one side, there is another human eagerly waiting to replace us, and on the other, there is AI trying to take over our tasks. Working in today’s world is not for the faint-hearted. We’ve lived through this reality for years — long schedules, impossible timelines, constant firefighting, shifting expectations, and pressure that rarely lets up.

The construction industry may traditionally stand at the top when it comes to burnout rates, but I have a doubt that software professionals are under extra stress these days.

Every profession now demands emotional endurance, mental resilience, and stress management. Burnout is no longer an exception — it must be managed actively, and whenever possible, proactively.

A simple exercise can help relieve stress:
Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Feel your lungs expand, feel the air entering your nose. Now, watch your thoughts. See where they go.

Within moments, the mind drifts into the past or the future. It latches onto a memory, a worry, a plan — anything but the present moment. Keep bringing the wandering mind back to the present. Make it sit and accept the present, with the quiet understanding that the universe has plans for everyone.

There is a second — and far more reliable — path to contentment: learning to want and appreciate what we already have. Situations, materials, experiences — anything and everything. The world will always give us reasons to feel inadequate. Our work will always demand more.

But peace… peace comes only from one place: a mind trained to return to presence, and understand that nothing is permanent — good times, bad times, and for that matter, life itself.

Why I Can’t Multitask Anymore

 

Photo by Christina Morillo

There was a time when I thought I could multitask without even thinking about it. I could listen to something fascinating, read at the same time, even write a few thoughts in between. 

But now? 

The moment my ears are engaged, everything else seems to shut down. I can’t read. I can barely write. It’s as if I’ve slowly turned into a single-tasking person.

At first, this bothered me. I wondered if I was losing a part of myself — the part that used to juggle so many inputs so naturally. But the moment I start comparing myself to my own past experiences, I can never be sure whether those earlier abilities were facts or illusions. Memory is a storyteller, not always a historian. So I dug a little deeper and ended up with a narrative that actually comforted me.

Cognitive science says this is completely normal. The tendency for our attention and cognitive resources to become tightly focused when our hearing is actively engaged is rooted in our evolutionary biology — particularly the importance of sound for early threat detection. Our ancestors survived by reacting quickly to noises around them, and our brain still gives hearing the first priority. When the ears take over, the rest of the system naturally quiets down.

And maybe that’s not a flaw.
Maybe that’s my mind choosing depth over noise.
Maybe that’s my system saying, “Focus on one thing. Be present in the moment.”

The more I think about it, the more I realise: single-tasking isn’t a decline — it’s a refinement. It’s an invitation to do fewer things, but with more honesty and more attention. And perhaps that’s the real evolution — not the ability to do everything, but the courage to do one thing well.

So yes, my ears may overpower everything else now. But maybe they’re not interrupting my life — maybe they’re guiding me back to it.

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